


When you're torn in two, who can you trust?

by nyasty_boy



Category: The Creatures | Cow Chop RPF
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Gen, Graphic Imagery, M/M, Violence, and references child abuse / neglect, the novahd is kinda hinted and not really there, this isnt part of the clusterfuck au this was just me having fun lol, vaguely nsfw, yeah i got bored whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 17:57:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16351385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyasty_boy/pseuds/nyasty_boy
Summary: I've got a voice inside my headand a feeling in my guti dont know just who to believewhen you're torn in two, who can you trust?Maybe We're Meant To Be Alone - Bad Suns





	When you're torn in two, who can you trust?

**Author's Note:**

> well, there doesnt have to be two of us.
> 
> lol thanks to the cc groupchat for telling me which brain fucks

They’re driving.

—

They’re driving.

—

The car pulls up to a shuddering halt, they’re in the middle of nowhere (as far as Aleks can tell, but for all he knows they’re on some beautiful, historic land that’s super important. Whatever.) and they’re still shell shocked from the inner city chaos and havoc.

All Aleks knows, _truly_ knows, is that the crew is gone. He’d watched Trevor slip off the building from his nest - James reminded him before the job to _go the inside way, idiot_ , but Trevor was ( _is_ , aleks thinks, stubbornly) nothing but a rebellious teen -  and fall all those stories with a rather resigned look, always so casual and _blasé_. The morbid crunch of his body striking the ground and his sniper skittering across the asphalt will echo in his mind for a while. The custom weapon is on the back seat next to the duffle bag.

—

James can’t feel his hands.

He knows it’s just the adrenaline, the cortisol pumping through his veins sending him into overdrive, he could go into a mindless babble listing all the biological reasons why his hands are shaking, but he can’t help it’s because of the way he pushed himself into that burning building and reached for Asher through the flames, hands lingering just a little too long to come out unscathed. All for nothing.

He curls his fingers into fists and looks through the windscreen, idly coming to the realisation that they’re no longer moving.

—

Aleks pulls the key from the ignition, eyes fluttering shut as if his own body has shut down along with the engine - it might be due to the day’s rather dreary outcome, but he wishes it was true. His knees bounce rapidly in the footwell, shoes splattered with blood.

He thinks about how it got there, as he carefully drags himself out of the car (Its cold, the wind is sharp so he blames the burning tears in his eyes on that.) and braces his hands on the roof. Brett’s agonised shout as Lindsey, so energetic and powerful, dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, her blank face and the neat bullet between her eyes, his other half gone.

Aleks idly hopes the man who did that is still alive, just so he can pull his teeth out.

—

James braces his elbows against his knees, fingers now covering his mouth slightly. He’s running the numbers in the back of his mind, checking things through.

_How much did we pull? Did Jakob hear Anna scream? What’s Aleks thinking? Is Brett still wreaking havoc back there, or is he laid next to his crew in the morgue already, a macabre dance in those stainless steel boxes?_

He closes his eyes and sighs out shakily, ignores how his breath hitches and a sob threatens to rear its ugly head in the back of his throat.

—

Aleks closes the car door and looks around. It really is the middle of-fucking-nowhere.

(He thinks, in the soft and sad corner of his mind, so melancholy in the way that he can no longer have the things he is nostalgic for, about how it’s so similar to the early days. Biting winters and smothering summers that threaten you with all they have. So many stars in the sky above them, fingers laced - almost nervously - between them both. James would point up at a constellation and say it’s name and smile so bright across at aleks that he can’t help but say _baby, don’t try to impress me with these petty things when you’re the brightest star I’ve ever seen_. It’s so forward, so decisive and James can’t help his bark of shocked laughter, eyes widening slightly before that pretty flush of his - half beer, half puppy love - spreads down his chest and to the tips of his ears.

Those times are long gone, he digs his nails into the palms of his hands, but memories remain.)

His feet leave behind half formed footprints, the snow is too light and the floor is too damp for anything to stick around - light skin pressed against his own, hands pressed together, friendships, the cloying scent of blood, dark eyes _begging_ \- and the fearful gait he’s taken, on his tiptoes and ready to sprint at the lightest sound, is too careful to step where traces of himself might stick around.

—

James thinks of the Hub. He thinks about the loss, the pain. Closest friends leaving - in body bags or in their own cars in the dead of night, his chest still burns with that bitter tang of betrayal either way - and his own distrust causing him to refuse making more.

Thinking of those times still fills him with a visceral cowardice. He knows Aleks saved his skin, similar to the way he did tonight -

(But also dissimilar, first Aleks was hesitant, voice tentative and careful in the night, his breath warm against james’ soft chest and his fingers tapping out an idle rhythm, _tap-tap-tap taptap-tap-tap_ . His own breath rushed out at the thought of leaving, but he knew this line of work was sink or swim. Today, Aleks was firm and brash, grabbing at James desperately and pulling him away from their bodies - instead of pulling their bodies together like they did the first time - and urging him into a car with a sharp voice, pain evident on his own face. He fought wildly, screaming out for his friends, his _family_ , but he had to leave.)

-but he knows it’s for the best.

—

Aleks thinks of the bag of cash in the car, the gun clipped to his belt, whether his neighbour would notice he isn’t home yet and feed Mishka and Celia like she usually does. He wonders if James has someone to do that for him with Ein.

Aleks scuffs the toe of his shoe against the ground, kicking a few rocks across the dirt floor. His hands slide into his pockets as he notices, almost passively, that he doesn’t really feel anything right now. He’s felt loss before, recognises its possessive clutch whenever it sneaks up. He knows he should be screaming and sobbing like every other time, all passion and flames and destruction, but he can’t find it within himself to dig through the last dregs of his energy and force the first cry up and out of his throat. Instead, he imagines no more loss, just a singular existence of himself. An organism - a _machine_ \- with no use for other parts.

His left hand slips from his pocket and touches along the handle of the gun, nail catching in the grip and - almost reverently - tracing along each scratch and scar on the metal work, the subtle engraving on the inside of the grip, almost unintelligible due to the wear on the gun.

—

James pulls himself out of the car slow, his joints have locked up from the way he tightened his whole body. They creak and groan as he stands and shuts the door, stuffing his own hands into the warm pockets of his hoodie.

He walks over, less careful with his steps, and frowns at each of Aleks’ little flinches with every broken twig. He feels like he’s walking on the boy’s ribs, cracking and shattering under his feet as he quakes with each noise, adamantly refusing to show his fear and pain. They’re children again, hiding from mommies and daddies that just don’t love them anymore.

“Aleks…” his voice is raw and small, eyes half lidded and tired as he leans his forehead against the other man’s back. His shoulders shake slightly, but he sucks in the sob that nearly escapes and notices the way aleks tightens up in retaliation.

—

Aleks looks down at his feet, revelling in the warmth of the other man against him, before stepping away and turning around to face him. He can taste blood in his mouth, knows he looks nothing near the carefully woven personality he usually wears, the one he inherited so long ago, but he can’t find it within himself to use the last of his fucks.

He takes both his hands from his pockets, idly sliding his gun out and looking down at it. He notices the way James stiffens at the actions but says nothing, instead just pacing up and down.

He’s glad he left the headlights off.

—

The monkey part of his brain is screaming, it’s bouncing off the walls at the sight of a gun in Aleks’ hands. Then he remembers what they just escaped from, why there’s a bullet in his vest. The monkey doesn’t stop. _Gun gun gun_.

The lizard part of his brain is craving the warmth of Aleks’ body after so much trauma. It is disinterested in the gun and more interested on the fingers wrapped around the metal, the finger on the trigger and what the rest can do inside of him. _Aleks Aleks Aleks_.

The human part, the only semi-conscious part of his brain right now, is scared. His schema is triggered by the sight of a weapon in the hands of someone he loves, his heart is racing and sweat beads along his brow. _Betrayal betrayal betrayal._

His hands are shaking again.

—

“Well… there doesn’t have to be two of us.”

—

The breath _whooshes_ out of James in one go. He drops his head and curls his fingers a little at the sound of the safety clicking off.

His smile is bitter as he laughs, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes and falling between one blink and the next as he looks at Aleks, makes sure to use those bambi eyes on the motherfucker pointing a gun at him.

“I guess not.”

—

Aleks pulls the trigger, eyes blank.

—

He’s driving.


End file.
